


Paging Dr. Bilan

by Balkanika_52



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Outer Space, Science Fiction, Spaceships, just a cute lil fluff piece, slight slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29535681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balkanika_52/pseuds/Balkanika_52
Summary: Sergey is captain of a spaceship...and stressed. So he goes to talk to the ship's doctor. Fluff ensues.
Relationships: Dima Bilan/Sergey Lazarev
Kudos: 2





	Paging Dr. Bilan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ludolefebvre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ludolefebvre/gifts).



“Captain Lazarev, wait!”

Sergey sighed and pasted on a fake smile before he turned back to see one of the junior officers running towards him. It seemed like every other hour, there was some issue on the ship that either he had to fix or that  _ someone _ wanted advice from the famous Captain Lazarev.

_ You stop a crisis once and suddenly everyone looks up to you. _

It wasn’t that he didn’t like giving advice. Sometimes, he would have ‘office hours’ like he was a university professor and listen to their troubles. The last month, though, had been a pain in his ass in more ways than one.

First, there had been a visiting delegation from a species that abhorred physical contact. His first mate had, of course, disregarded the required information packet and given the delegation’s leader a handshake as a greeting. It took all of his charm, plus breaking out the Earthen delicacies that were practically kept under lock and key, to avoid starting an intergalactic war. Then there was the sudden outbreak of a stomach bug that had half the crew throwing up every half hour, it seemed, himself included. The ship’s doctor hadn’t been able to provide treatment fast enough, and when he did, it was in a full hazmat suit, to avoid the vomit.

Being the captain of the flagship of the Galactic Fleet was a better job than most had, but sometimes he felt like he was going to snap.

“There’s a problem with the translation matrix.” The officer-- _ Garipova,  _ that  _ was her name _ \--said as she caught up, showing him the data on her tablet. Somehow, the matrix that was responsible for nearly all of the ship’s communication had reverted to only working with Earthen languages. Since there was no intergalactic common tongue, basically everyone relied on sophisticated translation matrices to get things done, including the  _ Eternal Wanderer _ .

If the translation matrix wasn’t working, they would be dead in the water, and that meant they’d be more likely to cause  _ another  _ intergalactic incident.

“Take it to Nalitch in Engineering, he’ll know what to do.” He managed to say, knowing that the chief engineer would be the best person to get the job done and get them back on track. They had a planet to get to sometime in the next forty-eight hours.

“Aye, Captain!” She said, saluting him before running down the corridor to the nearest elevator as Sergey rubbed his eyes with one hand, thinking,  _ I need a drink. Or some anti-stress medication. _ He settled for the former first, his reasoning being that, if it got any worse, he’d go to the ship’s doctor, admit he was under far too much stress, and get the treatment he needed before his head exploded from the mental pressure.

Or before he opened the airlock and let the void of space take care of it for him. Although going to the doctor sounded like a much less painful way to take care of things, now that he thought about it some more. He finally reached his office and locked the door behind him, sighing again as he sat down and pulled out the bottle of whisky he kept in a locked drawer in his desk. “Maybe I should get a cat.”  _ But where would the cat go? _ his brain immediately questioned, and to shut it up, he downed a shot of whisky, wincing slightly as it burned his throat. He didn’t drink often, but when he did, it was often accompanied by thoughts of how to make his lonely life a little  _ less  _ lonely. Being captain was no picnic. He had a ship to run, crewmembers to supervise, and-

_ Beep! Beep! Beep! _

The alarm was going off.  _ Fuck _ , could he not get ten minutes to himself without  _ something  _ going wrong?!

Then he remembered that he had made a bag of popcorn as a snack, and the food dispenser on the wall was alerting him that it was ready. Sometimes alarms were good things. As he ate, he thought about how he had gotten here. He had been recruited by the Galactic Fleet right out of university, and when he had joined, it had seemed like a no-brainer to him. Traverse the galaxy for a few years, have all the benefits, and then write a book about it and retire, but then The Incident had occurred and he had been promoted from cadet to captain in the span of a month.

Maybe he needed a trip to the doctor’s, after all. It was all starting to get to him--he was barely twenty-eight and felt like the galaxy was on his shoulders. So he made an appointment for the next day at noon and, ten minutes before he was due, came through the infirmary doors. He hadn’t seen Dr. Bilan since his physical six months ago, but when he saw him glance up from his tablet he remembered how handsome the good doctor was, even with the thick-framed glasses he wore. “Good afternoon, Captain Lazarev. Please, take a seat. You wrote in the notes of your booking form that you’ve been feeling stressed. Can you tell me a little more about what’s causing you to feel that way?”

Sergey laughed, shaking his head slightly as he took a seat on the exam table. “Honestly,  _ stressed _ is an understatement. I feel like I’m about to explode. It’s not easy being the youngest captain in the Fleet, you know.”

The doctor nodded, taking a few notes. “When did this start?”

_ When did it start _ was a question that was going to be hard to answer, and as Sergey thought about it, he realised that he had  _ always  _ been stressed. “I honestly don’t know.”

Telling the truth wasn’t always the best idea, and he worried immediately that he was going to be stripped of his captain’s chair and sent to a mental facility, but all Dr. Bilan said was, “Hmm,” writing something else down before putting the tablet to the side and taking off his glasses. “Tell me. Was this what you wanted?”

“Was  _ what  _ what I wanted?” Sergey was confused; what was he talking about? That question could refer to any number of things. “The captaincy. Did you want it?” It was the first time anyone had ever asked him that question, and, in a way, the first time he had even  _ thought  _ about not wanting it. “Nobody has asked me that before.”

“Well, I’m asking you now. It doesn’t help anyone if the captain of the flagship of the Galactic Fleet is a nervous wreck.” He let out a little laugh. “I’m not just here to dole out medication and perform surgeries, you know. I’m here for mental health reasons, too. People always seem to forget that. I can be someone for people to talk to. Tell me what’s on your mind, Captain.”

“Sergey.”

“What?”

“Please, call me Sergey.” He said, running a hand through his hair and attempting a smile. “Everyone calls me ‘Captain’ so much that I’m worried I’ll forget what my name is.” They shared a laugh, the doctor nodding and making a note of it on his tablet. “Alright, then. In that case, call me Dima.”

_ Dima _ .

It was a nice name, two syllables like his own, and Sergey found himself thinking how nice it sounded.  _ Dr. Dima Bilan _ .

_ Stop it, Sergey. Don’t go crushing on the ship’s doctor, now. _

“Okay. Dima. How does this work?”

“Just talk to me like you would a friend, and we’ll go from there.” He took a deep breath before he spilled every single detail of how he felt. How he had only wanted to be in the Force for a few years before he had been thrown into the middle of a kidnapping plot and saved the heir to the throne of one of the most powerful dynasties in the galaxies. How he had been handed the promotion to captain on a silver platter, and felt like if he didn’t accept it, it would be a slap in the face to decorum and protocol and everyone who had come before him. How he had spent two years as captain of a ship that he had grown to love, but had put his personal life on the back burner for far too long. How he wanted to  _ date someone _ , dammit, to find someone to love more than a spaceship. How everyone seemed like they were dumping their own problems onto him, whether venting or wanting him to fix them for them. “And that’s why my head feels like it’s about to explode.” He concluded, happening to glance at the clock and see that an entire hour had gone by since he had first stepped into the infirmary. “Wait, this is all confidential, right?”

“Yes. No recording is being taken, and my notes are just for me. My advice is that you retire sooner rather than later. You’re a brilliant man, Sergey, and a brilliant captain, but you’re in danger of burning out. As for finding love...it seems like you haven’t had many actual friends in the past few years. Start from there. Come see me in a week, and we can talk about your progress.”

Over the next month, he went to the infirmary every Tuesday at noon sharp, updating Dr. Bilan-- _ Dima _ \--on his progress. It was around the third visit when he noticed that Dima had a tendency to blush whenever he came in.

Was it a coincidence, something more, or was he just thinking too much into it? He figured he’d make an offhand comment about it and see where it went. “You blush a lot when I’m here.” Dima blushed even deeper at the remark. “You’re quite easy on the eyes, Captain. Can you blame me?”

Sure, Sergey knew he was handsome enough to make people give him a second glance, but to hear the ship’s doctor tell him to his face made  _ him _ blush. “I’ve made progress in friendships. Maybe...I’d like to start dating. So, no. I can’t blame you.”

_ Fuck it. _

_ Time to make a move. _

“Would you like to have dinner with me this Friday?” He immediately regretted it--it probably violated protocols that he didn’t even know existed for a doctor to go on a date with his patient, and the last thing he wanted to do was violate protocol. He started to stammer out an apology, but Dima held up a hand, signalling for him to shut his mouth and listen. “I would love to. Before you ask, no, it doesn’t violate protocol for me to have dinner with one of my patients. You aren’t the only one who gets lonely around here.”

So that was how they ended up in Sergey’s quarters Friday night, sitting cross-legged across from each other with a variety of dishes laid out on the coffee table in front of them. “Do you normally eat like this?” The question came as they were doing the dishes afterwards. Even with the advances in technology the galaxy had made, nobody could invent a better dishwasher. “With someone, or while sitting on the floor?”

Dima laughed as he dried a plate, thinking about his own question. “Both, I guess.” A shrug. “No to the first part, yes to the second. Makes me feel like I’m not on a spaceship, but back on Earth. Formal dinners aren’t my thing, in case you can’t tell. Give me a few friends and some good food, and I’m happy. There’s something my grandmother always said.  _ ‘You’re better off having peasant food with good people than fancy food with jackasses.’ _ She was a damn smart woman.”

“It seems like you take after her. If you don’t mind me asking...what’s your family like?” Sergey thought about it. “Messy. But, at the end of the day, I wouldn’t trade them for any other family. What about yours?”

Dima snorted. “Nonexistent.” Sergey immediately felt bad and wanted to apologise, but he thought twice. If his family was nonexistent, it was better not to talk about it more. “It’s okay. They didn’t appreciate me becoming a doctor when the family business was greed and corruption, so I took off one day and didn’t look back.”

“Ah.” There really wasn’t more to say, so he left it at that. As he walked Dima to the door, he suddenly wanted him to stay. Maybe even to spend the night. But instead, what came out was, “You know, if this were a date, you’d kiss me goodnight.”

Dima was halfway out the door when he glanced back, smirked, and said four words that made Sergey’s heart stop.

_ “Then maybe I will.” _


End file.
